Pokhara

Oh man im falling behind in my writing. Here is a quickly written magicless description of my last day in Pokhara.

Travel journal September 15-17 2006

My last day in Pokhara was one to remember and easily made up for the four previous rain-filled days of boredom. After eating breakfast, buying a new book to read [Clive Cussler's Valhalla Rising- Dirk Pitt is a GOD] and a waterproof cover to my pack, I was on my way to use the internet when a man standing in the doorway of a fabric shop called out to me. This is not a rare occurence as I am often stopped for one minute of small talk bfore I am asked to buy trinkets, or drugs, enlist the service of a guide, or to donate money for a variety of reasons.

This time the man that stopped me asked about my yellow Livestrong wristbands that I wear [and have worn for over 2 years regardless of fashion trends, thank you very much] on both arms. Being stopped for this reason is also not rare as they are often the first thing noticed about me- besides my long hair, light skin, and 6'2'' frame. But instead of asking me to give him one, the mans wanted to knowwhere he could buy one and I tell him the website. (Livestrong.com)

The man and I chat a little bit and he asks me if I have time to come in and sit down for a tea as he assures me he isn't trying to sell me anything. I acept and as I enter to store I am relieved to see that the hanging designed fabrics are of a very high quality. I relax knowing that I won't feel pressured to buy anything if he actually is trying to sell me something since I couldn't possibly afford them.

His name is Krishna, and he is Indian from Rajasthan near Jaisalmer from where the camel safaris start. He is very kind and we talk about a lot of things for about an hour.

He was married in an arranged marriage and we discuss this topic. He asks me about my home, what my parents do and if I have a girlfriend. I give him a postcard of Seattle with my email address and he tellsm e he will be back in Rajasthan this winer and I say we sould meet up for a drink or dinner.

Somewhere along in our conversation, Krishna mentions he is having a party tonight with friends and I should come. He tells me there will be fish and lots of food and drinking and smoking. He asks if I drink and I say yes- although I drink very little on this trip- and if I smoke to which I answer truthfully: only a little, sometimes.

We continue to talk for a few minutes and then we make plans to meet up at the store at 6 in the evening. I leave the store and walk to an internet cafe to respond to emails. Inside an American girl recognizes me, or maybe the UW email website that Im using, and asks if I got to UW and if I'm going to study in Nainital.

She is supposed to be going with us on our program and has spent the last 2 months here in Pokhara volunteering at an orphanage. She told me that she decided to not go to Nainital, something that her mom doesn't know yet. I think she was planning to work in another orphanage for awhile and then decide where to go next.

She had no airplane ticket home and no plans on what to do next. Complete freedom. I am proud of my fellow Seattlite and mention my own lack of faith in the directors of and people on the program. We talk a few more mintues and resolve to meet in Seattle at a later point.

Saying goodbye, I walked outside intending to walk a very long way up to the post office in town, as the lakeside area is more touristy and away from the city proper. On the way I ran into a couple who was staying in the room next to me at the guesthouse and to whome I've spoken a few times. They offered to lend me a bike to ride upill into town and I gratefully accepted not looking forward to the long haul in the sun.

The ride into town was indeed long, hot, and uphill. I only had a basic idea of where the P.O. was since the only map I had came from the Lonely Planet. I had to stop and ask for directions three different time but I made it after about 40 minutes.

On the way up one long wide road that appeared to by the main street, I stopped on the side to allow a maoist demonstration pass. Red flags waved and slogans were shouted repeatedly as the army of young men, and a few women, followed a car with a loudspeaker down the road. A few of the demonstrators saw me and smiled.

That day there was a strike in the city (maybe also elsewhere?) of all taxi drivers, buses, cars etc. The roads were blocked by buses and people were scared enough to not challenge the maoists and kept their vehicles off the roads. Luckily, bikes seemed an okay means of transportation. [I mean Mao was Chinese...]

Back at lakeside, I dropped off the bike and walked to a shop north of the busy tourist area on the way to my guesthouse. I've stopped their a couple times before and talked to the men outside and yesterday one offered me a boat for the lake at a cheap price. So today I returned but had only one hour before I must be back and go meet Krishna.

The boat was long and narrow and the blue paint looked faded from the sun and years of monsoons. I sat in the back and paddled out into the middle of my end of the lake.

Phewa Tal is the biggest of 3 lakes in the area, and the second largest lake in Nepal. I took pictures back toward lakeside, of the stupa at the top of the hill, and down the length of the lake. A canoe carrying 3 young, well tanned boys out for a swim came by to say hello- and ask me for money to buy a soccer ball.

With 20 minutes left I began to paddle quickly back to the store as the sun began to sink behind me.

After packing and showering I walked back to town and met Krishna. We took some backroads outof the way and back to the lakeside raod so I could view the locals' houses free from the tourists.

I sat awhile in the jewelry shop in which he works and waw amazed at the relatively cheap prices of the beautiful precious stones set in gold and silver. He pointed out some of the stones and where they come from.

Soon we were back on the road walking to his home which, he told me on the way, was actually everyone's (all his friends') home also. We entered his building and walked up the stairs to his apartment. Inside, the room was sparse and simple. Against three walls were three small beds that were only slightly more than a matress with sheets.

On the fourth wall a small low table was cluttered with newspapers and personal affects. A small TV and speakers sat in one corner of the room, and the walls were bare save for one poster like those I saw in Tibet.

Mostly a collage, at the top was Mt. Everest and Mt Kailash and then representative pictures of major cities between Lhasa and Nepal were pieced together will all labels in Sanskrit. I recognized Gyangtse and Shigatse as well as Lhasa and both mountains.

Soon his friends started arriving. There were at least 4 other male friends besides Krishna, and one friend's cute German girlfriend. This guy apparently was the boss- I assume the manager of the jewelry ship- but he was the same age or younger (26) and never acted as a superior. He was among friends. I assume there was another room in the building that housed another 3 of them.

At some point a few friends disappeared to the kitchen and began the long slow process of cooking. I was told they were making a fish curry from a fresh fish caught that day in the lake. When one of the coks came in I asked if he was the chef but he gave all the credit to Raj (the only other name I remembered because its short) and said that he was just the worker while Raj was teh lead chef.

I wish I could have helped because I love to cook and I miss it, but I was told to sit and relax and to not worry. As the guest I didnt want to overstep my boundaries in any way that might belittle my hosts' hospitality.

I hadn't eaten lunch and was told that they ate very late, often at 11 at night. This was the case this night as well. While we waited, we hung out sitting on the fllor of Krishna (and 2 others') room and listened to music, chatted- mostly in English- and well, smoked.

They passed around a metal pipe that was tapered at one end called a chillum. It was heavy and filled with "skunk" and tobacco. One smokes it by holding in upright, placing a thin piece of cloth on it and holding both hands to one's mouth in a variety of ways and puffs through their fingers.

I told them this was the first time I'd smoked from, or even heard of a chillum. I took a small toke and tried to pass it as I didn't want to miss out on the night- and very little will do very much to my head- but the boss jokingly told me I smoked like a woman so I had to make him proud.

More conversation- at this point I can't remember many topics- and I was passed a small bong made from a sprite bottle, for my first ever time. Needless to say that if I was hungry before, now I was starving.

At some point I was asked to pick a CD from one o the German girl's two CD cases. I picked Jimi Hendrix but the CD was broken and wouldn't play. So they put on some hiphip underground stuff- Mixmaster Mike or something. I was disappointed because I knew- because I had seen- that the other case contained music I would have loved to listen to such as The Who, The Doors, Nirvana unplugged and more. The girl asked what kind of music I likedand I said old rock music which sent her on the hunt for her Pink Floyd album that she never found. I miss music.

Finally the food was ready and was served on plates by Raj and others. The seven of us ate with our hands sitting on the floor of the room using newspaper covering the carpet as a tablecloth.

The fish came complete with hundreds of tiny bones that made it difficult ot eat. Also the sauce wasn't spicy and lacked a strong flavor but I gladly soaked it up with my chipati as I was famished by this late hour.

At one point the power went out again while we were eating. [By the end of my stay in nepal it went out about twice a day.] Almost immediately a candle was lit on teh low table that cast an orange glow on the scene and everyone continued to tear chipati and slurp fish meat away from teh bones without any complaints, or even acknowledgement of the inconvenience that the power had indeed gone out.

After dinner, I joined Raj, Krishna, the boss and the girl out on the balcony. They smoked more and asked me more questions. Raj has long dark hair and dressed well in a sweater that one might find in Eddie Bauer or a similar store. I think he could do very well with American women. He told me I don't have an American accent. I'd heard that before in Kathmandu and I know what he means.

What I speak to people whose first and often second or third languageis not English, I unconciously, habitually change my speech pattern. Speaking slowly and clearly and using commone, simple words to convey my meaning I often think I sound like some European- maybe Swiss or Austrian.

It sounds like English isn't my first language and peole are often surprised to find out I am American I assume because I don't use American slang or generally sound like other Americans they've met. I believe this makes it easie to communicte as the person with whom I'm speaking understands me easily and therefore is more likely o open up and be more friendly that with someone who makes them feel like their language skills are inferior.

At about midnight, Krishna offer two of his friends to take me back to my hotel on their motorbike, because its a long way and was raining hard. Three of us squeezed on the seat with me in the middle holding my backpack on my leg with my left hand and some rail beneath my other lef with my right.

They were only able to take me so far- within a five minute walk because there was a police checkpoint and they didn't have a license. They were very apologetic about this, but I tried to assure them that it was very close and the were very kind. These two friends I believe lived in the building, but they hadn't been with us the rest of the night.

I jogged awkwardly through the rain back to my guesthouse. Unlocking the door to my room, I collapsed on the bed as I was exhausted after such a long eventful day, and smiled, satisfied at another unique encounter with generous locals on this trip.

When will it happen again?